I have a confession to make about my dad.
He's an Arab prince.
That's a long-running joke I always tell my friends.
Oh how I missed the look of amazement/enlightenment on their faces when they tell me "That's why your name is Riyadh!" or "That's the reason why you were born in Saudi!" -Fun times!
(The cute kid by the way is my older brother with some random guy my dad is friends with back in 1982)
Here's my real dad.
I don't really know much about him and quite frankly, I don't even see the similarities (his Chuapoco-ness manifests in my kuya) until I saw these photos...
|The love for Ray-Bans and his preference for variation when it comes to photo backgrounds are what I got from him. Never mind the hair.|
|What's up with December 24 and 25? Ahh… maybe they just take Christmas a little too seriously?|
|No, really dad. Pink Floyd or Whitney Houston?|
As for me, I cherish those moments when I was just somewhere between 3 − 4 where I, my kuya, and my mom and dad jog at the airport near our house in Jolo Sulu. He always carry me on his shoulders everytime.
Believe me when I tell you that I clearly remember everything! I still get butterflies just thinking about it. Especially when we go downhill, with me, still on his shoulders.
Nakakamiss ka mejia.